


A Man Of Habit, A Man Of Adventure

by iavenjqasdf



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: AU, Bad Flirting, I don't really specify, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Russian!Brady, Tea, although it can be, basically Gregor, idk what else to tag this as for now, not literally Russian but like, not necessarily Gregor!Brady though, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/pseuds/iavenjqasdf
Summary: Brady's life is changed forever when a bloodied stranger stumbles onto his doorstep one night...





	1. Tea and Bloodstains

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started this based off an idea by @hexlockspear on tumblr, and just went wild. Chapters 1 and 2 were written for days 3 and 5 (respectively) of Udobure Week 2017.
> 
> I tagged this as AU because it diverges from Awakening canon in a couple of ways. For one, Owain and Brady don't know each other at the beginning of the fic (while I headcanon them to have been friends since childhood normally), and there isn't/hasn't really been a war. There are a few other differences, but I don't wanna spoil anything else, so just read on and enjoy!

Brady was a man of habit. Not just the habit that made up his priest uniform, of course, but of routine, of predictability and ritual. It helped him feel in control, like he could have certainty in something in this huge, chaotic world. So, every evening, he’d set the samovar as he got home, change into his bedclothes, and return to the kitchen right on time to pour himself a cup of tea at just the right temperature. Occasionally, a wedge’s worth of lemon juice or a spoonful of honey would be added to the mix, but for the most part, one could practically set a watch to Brady’s teatime procedure.

The light drizzle that had accompanied his shuffle home had grown into a full-on rainstorm, and Brady shivered slightly, pulling the throw blanket draped over the back of his chair around his shoulders. He silently thanked his intuition for deciding to patch that hole in the roof last week; now he’d stay nice and dry rather than waking up in a puddle due to a midnight shower once again.

Brady almost didn’t hear the knock at the door above the drumming of the rain; he assumed it’d just been a distant thunderclap, until it came again, this time with a distinct urgency behind it. He muttered a curse to himself as he set his teacup down, trudging over to the door. His routine had been interrupted, and Brady didn’t take kindle to such interruptions.

There was a loud thump against his door as he began to unlatch it. “Quit it, I’m comin’!” he barked, seething at the rudeness inherent in kicking at someone’s door in the dead of night like this. Brady hesitated a moment; it had been too dark to see who’d come by through the window, but what if it was someone dangerous? He grabbed his stave in one hand as he flung the door open with the other.

Before he had a chance to think, Brady leapt back as an unfamiliar form crashed onto his rug, drenched in something that looked to be darker than just rainwater. “Shit!” Brady shouted, before clapping a hand over his mouth; luckily, his guest didn’t seem to register his momentary lapse in decorum. Less luckily, it seemed like that was because he was unconscious.

Brady’s bedtime ritual was pushed to the far corners of his mind as he dragged the stranger through the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him. He made sure to slide all three of the deadbolts shut, too; one visitor was more than enough to handle for one night. Returning his attention to his “guest”, he let out a small sound of disbelief at the trail of blood he'd left behind on his rug. Didn’t this jackfart know better than to go bleeding on such expensive carpeting?!

It took a moment for the part of Brady’s mind versed in healing to realize what that blood could mean, and he quickly got to work. Turning the visitor over onto his back, he examined them; they were a blonde, about Brady’s own age; handsome in a sort of boyish way, had it not been for the large, seeping gash trailing from his sternum up to his left shoulder like a gory brushstroke. He was still breathing, though; that was as good a sign as Brady could hope for.

Brady made a quick trip to the kitchen cabinet where he kept his spare supplies, grabbing a couple of vulneraries and bandages (and his staff, which he’d rather carelessly flung aside in surprise earlier). The stranger was dressed in odd clothes Brady hadn’t seen before; some sort of coat or cloak lined with wool around the sleeves, and a simple, thin shirt that had likely been ruined. Brady made a note to see if he could repair it later, he needed to patch up its owner first.

With his top clothing removed, Brady could examine the injury more easily. It hadn’t been quite as bad as he’d first thought; wiping away the bloodstained rainwater dotting his patient’s (rather athletic) chest, he saw that the wound had mostly stopped bleeding on its own. Still, he applied a generous amount of vulnerary to the injury, wrapping the bandages tightly around his torso to prevent any further infections from gaining purchase. He paused for a moment, then cast a basic healing spell just in case; it had been pretty chilly outside, after all, and saving someone from dying of blood loss only to have them succumb to hypothermia was not something Brady wanted to risk.

His patient stabilized, Brady grabbed him by the underarms to hoist (well, more like drag; the man was surprisingly heavy) him onto the couch, and after a momentary struggle to lift his lower body onto it, he draped the throw over him and quietly bid him a good night’s rest.

Brady returned to his living room, downed the rest of his (now lukewarm) tea in a single swig, and let the tears he’d held at bay spill over as he began to sob.


	2. Awakening (because every Awakening fic needs to throw in a title drop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owain awakens in a mysterious stranger's house, immediately begins formulating an escape plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS FUCK I PUBLISHED EARLY OH WELL ENJOY IG

Owain awoke to the scent of tea, wafting in from somewhere overhead. Overhead? Ah, he was laying on his back, which would place the source of the odor behind him. Mystery solved.

The next mystery he set out to crack was _why_ he was laying on his back, on what seemed to be an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar home. Had someone caught the mighty Owain Dark off guard, and lured him into their lair of treachery (and pleasant-smelling beverages)?!

Grasping at his chest for the dagger he kept stashed there, Owain was surprised to find only a layer of bloodied bandages standing between his skin and the open air. _My coat!_ He’d been robbed, he was sure of it now. Whoever had kidnapped him had made off with his clothing, and the weapons hidden within!

The sound of a chair squeaking from overhead (behind! Owain needed to keep that straight) and approaching footsteps from… the same direction, made Owain squeeze his eyes shut. _Gotta pretend to still be asleep until they’re close enough to ambush._ _Should I fake a snore, too? Do I even snore?_ Owain did not know; he’d never laid with someone long enough to be informed one way or another.

Regardless, it seemed his captor had fallen for the ruse; the footsteps were growing closer by the second. Judging by their stride, Owain guessed they were on the larger side; a complication, to be sure, but not one the hero of legend couldn’t overcome!

He waited until the last possible moment, when his kidnapper was within arm’s reach, to bolt upright, snagging their wrist in one hand as he used the other to push himself to his feet. “What th-?!” was all the taller man had a chance to blurt out before Owain’s arm encircled his throat in a chokehold. He slipped his free hand into the brigand’s front pocket, fumbling for any sort of weapon to help up the intimidation factor, and finding something with a metal handle. Good enough!

“Hush, evildoer! You shall only speak when spoken to, lest you wish to bring about the fury of Owain Dark!” he bellowed, before realizing a stealthier approach might be a smarter way to go. “Now, answer me this: how many of you brutes are there?”

“Wh-what?! It’s just me, ya jackfart!” the villain wheezed, keeling over backwards due to the awkward angle he significantly shorter man was holding him at. “Lemme go!”

Owain thought for a moment, then cautiously loosened his grip on the rogue. If he spoke the truth, he’d be alone and disarmed; Owain could take him down without difficulty if it came to that.

The scoundrel stumbled forward, balancing himself against the wall as he sucked in a deep breath. “Move carefully, fiend; step any closer, and I’ll slit your throat.”

“…with _that?!_ ” the malefactor managed to wheeze, prompting Owain to examine the “weapon” he’d pickpocketed for the first time.

It was a teaspoon.

While his impounder caught his breath, Owain took a moment to analyze his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a regular living room; a bit on the smaller side, but neatly kept. To his right was a table with a single chair, along with a strange looking metal urn and a cup of what Owain deduced was the tea he smelled earlier. Just ahead hung a pair of heavy drapes, through the cracks of which slivers of morning sunlight managed to seep through. And a bit to the left was a door.

 _An escape route!_ Owain would’ve had half a mind to beat his hasty retreat right then. There was no telling what this rapscallion had brought him here for, after all! But he’d taken Owain’s coat, and now, it was personal. He wasn’t going to leave this place without his Eternal Cloak of Untold Generations!

(Well, perhaps just two generations, given that it had belonged to his father, but there would doubtless be many more to come, so breaking in the name early was crucial!)

So, Owain made the decision to stay, so as to ascertain the whereabouts of his heroic garb. Silently slipping by the kitchen table, he scanned the counter for a knife, or other implement to replace his spoon.

“Knives’re in the second drawer ‘neath the cupboard.”

“Ah, I thank you!” Owain replied, snagging a small bread knife from said location. “Wait, why- that is, to what end are you aiding me, heinous demon?!”

“Figured ya’d wanna bite ‘fore ya kill me,” the stranger rolled his eyes as he slunk into the kitchen, sliding a plate with a half-loaf of homemade bread on it across the counter towards Owain. “Ya ain’t eaten since ya stumbled in here last night.”

“What say you?! That I stumbled in, of my own accord, into this wretched hive of-“

“Cool it with the ‘wretched hive’ malarkey, will ya?! I spent all night cleanin’ after ya bled all over th’ rug,” the crook snapped back, seating himself at the table with remarkable calm, given the circumstances. _He must be unable to comprehend the true depths of Owain Dark’s fury!_

““Aw, flapjacks!” He smacked his hand against his forehead suddenly. “I almost forgot; ya need some tea ‘ta wash that down?”

~

“…an’ after I patched ya up and laid ya to sleep, I spent half the night bleachin’ and scrubbin’ the bloodstains outta the rug, then went ‘ta bed.” Brady took a sip of tea. “And here we are now, as ya see.”

Owain rubbed his chin pensively. “A most fortunate coincidence, to be sure! In my most desperate hour, the door I pounded on seeking rejuvenation happened to be that of the local medic!”

“Sure was,” Brady’s frown softened for the first time, into something that almost half-resembled a tiny smile. “Lucky break, huh?”

“Ah, but even Lady Luck couldn’t grant such miracles! Why, this must’ve been the very work of Fate herself!”

“If ya say so,” Brady shrugged. “So, ‘yer turn. How’d ya wind up wanderin’ the streets bleedin’ half ‘ta death in the first place?”

Owain’s shoulders slumped with an exaggerated sigh. “Truth be told, my memories of last night are scant. I’d made my daring escape at midday, and spent most of the day wandering the town, trying to find my bearings, when…” he paused for a moment; Brady wasn’t sure if it was to let his memory come back, or if he was just making something up.

“Ah, of course! I was set upon by a band of thieves, and, wishing not to shed blood so early into my journey, I fled,” he continued. “From there, my memories grow murkier, but I suppose it stands to reason I was wounded, and found myself at the doorstep of a most handsome and generous priest!”

Brady couldn’t help but blush the tiniest but at that compliment. “Thanks. ‘Yer quite the looker ‘yerself,” he responded, before quickly adding “when ‘yer awake and not covered in blood an’ all, I mean.”

Brady winced inwardly. _Smooth as a hedgehog’s taint_.

Owain seemingly paid his comment no mind, instead electing to shove the chunk of bread Brady had offered him into his mouth. “You carry yourself with remarkable calm for a man who helped a half-dead stranger, only to be threatened by the very same!” Owain declared, crumbs tumbling from his lips between chews.

Brady could only offer another shrug in response as he took a swig of tea. “Ain’t the craziest thing I’ve had ‘ta deal with.”

Owain nodded sagely, as if he’d just been imparted some words of priceless wisdom. The silence didn’t last very long. “Pray tell, fairest Brady; in which ‘shire do we currently reside?” he inquired.

“Uh,” Brady was starting to get used to this Owain guy’s… eccentric manner of speech, but he still required a moment to figure this one out. “If ‘yer askin’ what town we’re in, it’s Ylisstol.”

“Oh, cruel heavens!” Owain dramatically threw his hands upward, loosing the angstiest-sounding moan he could manage. “I escape the palace, yet am unable to even venture beyond the walls of my own city!”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m on the outskirts ‘a town, so ya got pretty far.” Brady froze for a moment. “Hold it; palace?”

“Indeed! The grand estate in the center of town, where the ruling family resides, the chateau I called home until last night!”

The pieces clicked in Brady’s mind. “Wait, are ya saying… yer _the_ Owain? As in, Prince Owain, next in line after Queen Lucina?!”

Brady didn’t know it was possible for Owain’s smile to grow wider, but somehow, it did. “Indeed, the very same!”

Brady stared, blank-faced, for more than a few moments, before groaning and burying his face in his hands. “Ya gotta be yankin’ my chain…”


End file.
